The Quirky Theodore Buide
by imagination-running
Summary: A look into what makes the man, "the man with the yellow hat."


**The Quirky Theodore Buide**

A/N: There was a question amongst my in-laws of why the man with the yellow hat is the way he is. I took the initiative to answer it. They liked it, so I thought I would put it on here. This is probably a one-time only story for this category, though.

Naomi Buide squeezed the nurse's hand, a guttural yell passing her lips as she bore down with more force than she thought her abdomen capable of in an effort to birth her baby. Somewhere through a haze of pain, pressure, and stress she heard the nurse whimper about Naomi's grip on the young woman's hand. _The audacity_ , she thought, giving the nurse a side-eyed glare at the doctor's instruction to relax and breathe before the next push. _Arthur wouldn't whimper_.

"Again, Naomi," the doctor ordered.

Naomi raised up on the edge of the bed and pushed again. Everything else faded from her notice. There was nothing but pain and the need to get that baby out of her. She pressed with all she had in her. The sensations that were happening were nothing she would ever be able to adequately describe, but she knew that child was moments from taking a breath of air for the first time.

"STOP PUSHING!"

The command was startling and nearly impossible to comply with. The stupid nurse was trying to soothe Naomi as she fought against every instinct her body was sending (which was at a record high). She tried to voice a complaint that she couldn't stay stopped, but she could only offer a shuddering cry.

"The cord is wrapped around the baby's neck. We have to fix it now."

Naomi wasn't even sure who had spoken, but the words were horrifying even to her pain-muddled and sleep-deprived mind. She desperately wanted her husband Arthur. He wouldn't be whimpering at her grip. He wouldn't be weakly rubbing her back as she forced herself to not finish the birthing process. They had spent the past five years of their lives trying to bring some progressive, modern ideals to this backward, country township in Westchester County in New York State, and just when they thought they were making progress in the little school district where they worked, they were brought to the stunning realization that their efforts had never passed through the tiny, country hospital where she was giving birth. Even in 1979, her doctor and this hospital held to the archaic system of not allowing the husband anywhere near the delivery room, and Naomi was forced to endure the entire labor and delivery of her baby alone. Not even the argument that Arthur had been in the room when the child was conceived and therefore deserved to be in the room during the birth was enough to sway the hospital policy. In fact, it had only received an eye roll of exasperation.

Now, here she was paused mid-push while her doctor attempted to make sure her child lived to take his first breath, all alone because of an antiquated hospital policy. Anger and fear surged through her chest, and the beep of her heart monitor accelerated. Her breath shuddered, and her muscles trembled. She felt like her pelvis would explode from the pressure and pain. Nothing she had read, no birthing class she had attended had prepared her for this. This couldn't happen.

"Okay! Push, Naomi!"

She tucked her chin, squeezed her eyes closed, and finally gave into her body's desperate desire to push. Tears dripped down her cheeks. The young nurse took to muttering encouragements in a high-pitched, strained voice that Naomi blocked. She had no idea how long everything lasted, but in an instant the pressure was gone, a cry rent through air, and Naomi fell back against the bed, gasping for breath, half-laughing and half-crying as the doctor announced the baby to be a boy and handed him over to his mother. She had just barely begun to count his fingers and toes when her son was pulled away from her. Naomi cried out and made grabbing motions with her outstretched hands.

"He must be weighed and measured. He'll be back in no time," she was assured by a second nurse. The first was nowhere to be seen, but Naomi didn't care. She only had eyes for her son and hated all the distraction around her. The doctor was walking trying to deliver the afterbirth. Nurses were taking her vitals and preparing to move her to a regular room. The baby – her son – was crying, begging for the warmth of his mother's arms and for food, and speaking of that, her breasts had suddenly begun to ache and leak, in desperate need of their own relief. Everything was overwhelming, and Naomi cursed the hospital policy, again, for keeping her separated from her husband, whom she needed more than she probably ever had in her life.

Nearly an hour later, Naomi was settled in her bed in a clean, stark white hospital room. She held her baby boy in her arms. His tiny squished face was pressed against her breast as he suckled, his eyes closed and milk dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he hungrily ate his fill. Being born was hard for babies, too, after all. Naomi smiled at her son and brushed her fingertips along his faint hairline. Then she looked up at her husband as he sat on the edge of her bed, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding them both tight to his side. "Well, you've seen him now. What should we name him?" she whispered.

Arthur smiled and brushed the baby's bare head. "Hmm…" he started, his brown eyes darkening in contemplation. "I think…Theodore. Yes, Theodore Benjamin Buide, for a progressive president and an ingenious inventor."

Naomi looked back at their son. "Theodore Benjamin…That's a big name and some big shoes to fill for such a small guy. How about we call him Ted, for short?"

"Ted Buide," her husband rolled the name along his tongue. "Yes, I like that. It will suit him just fine."

Naomi pulled the boy from her breast and readjusted her gown. Then, she snuggled the sleeping baby to her chest and kissed his head. "Welcome to the world, Ted."

Ted was Arthur and Naomi's only child, their pride and joy. He had dark hair and eyes and a pale complexion. He was always smiling and laughing, a happy boy. The Buide's neighbors the Rankins were especially fond of little Ted. He was only a year younger than their son Mark, and the two families spent a great deal of time together. While the Buide's were teachers (Arthur a high school physical science teacher, and Naomi a third grade teacher.), the Rankins were farmers.

Ted grew to love the fresh air of the outdoors. His best friend Mark Rankin gave him a standing invitation to his family's farm which was just across the street from Ted's home. Ted spent nearly every afternoon on the farm with the Rankins. He never shied away from helping them with their chores and work. He milked cows, gathered eggs, fed pigs, and harvested crops. He helped run the pumpkin patch in the fall and tap maple trees in the winter. In the spring and summer, he would help man their farm stand where they sold fresh produce, local honey, and Rankin Farms Maple Syrup. He explored their one hundred acres without abandon. He, Mark, and Mark's younger sister Emily would run all over the place, ducking past cows, jumping hay bales, and chasing squirrels. It was a lovely childhood, all in all. There was the nearby beach in summer, snow in the winter, town festivals in fall, and swap meets in the spring. Ted loved it all. He loved to talk with tourists who came for the city, then searched out the country for some quiet and calm. He loved to chat with the old men who played checkers on the porch of the General Store. Their stories of adventures overseas in the military, of trekking cross country in their youth, of finding love and encountering loss on their journeys fed his own desire to explore, learn, and see what all the world had to offer.

His parents were no less interesting, either. While his mother's family was from Germany, his father's family was from Scotland. They told him about his ancestors on a regular basis. Arthur even still had family in Scotland, and when Ted was fourteen, they took a trip to there to see the family castle and meet with those distant cousins. It had been exhilarating. When they weren't looking into genealogies, the Buide's were often found in museums and libraries. Arthur and Naomi strove to build a love of learning and a progressive sense of community and understanding into their son, and by all accounts, they succeeded.

Ted was named valedictorian of his high school graduating class. He received numerous awards for his dedication and hard work, and best of all, he was accepted into New York University with a full scholarship. While he loved many subjects, he settled on studying animal science and biology. He minored in geography. By his fourth semester at college, Ted was offered an internship at a the Bloomsberry Museum near Central Park, and he accepted. He was soon considered an indispensable member of the museum's staff, endearing himself to everyone from the janitor to the researchers and scientists to the owner and director Mr. Bloomsberry himself.

Despite all of his success and budding opportunity, Ted was not a popular person outside the world of academics. He clearly remembered the day he had dressed a multi-colored get-up in fourth grade that resembled a native African ensemble with its bright colors and bold patterns. He loved the colors, and the outfit and looked fun and fresh to him when he had checked it in the mirror. Even his mother had told him that outfit was a wonderful way to express his interests in native African culture, since he had been reading about central African culture around that time and was enthusiastic to spread his knowledge to the other kids at school. He had been certain about wearing the clothes right up until Mary Peterson had pointed him out the moment he had walked onto campus and started laughing at his clothes. He was already a loner in school because he always knew the answers to the teacher's questions, and since Mark was a year ahead of him and Emily was two behind, he had no one else who liked him. They all thought he was a know-it-all and teacher's pet. They also said he was a cheat because his parents were both teachers for the same district, so when Mary said his clothes were crazy-colored, Ted decided that he would take color out of the equation. (That was a big word he was quite proud to know. His dad had taught him what it meant, and Ted loved nothing more than knowing new things, things no one else around him knew.) Ted decided from that day on to only ever wear yellow because something else that no one else knew was that "buide" meant "yellow" in Old Irish and was etymologically the forerunner for the Scottish-Gaelic word for yellow, "buidhe". Therefore, Theodore Buide, who was part Scottish, would only wear yellow. It would always match, and no one could call his clothes crazy-colored again, and the yellow would just be Ted's own personal joke.

Unfortunately, things didn't work out how he had planned. The other kids did laugh at his clothes. They called him "banana boy" because he was so tall and skinny. However, Ted was nothing if not determined, so he continued to wear yellow. When summer came, and he needed a hat to protect his head while he helped with the Rankin's farm stand, his dad bought him the only yellow hat they could find, a big ten-gallon hat. He wore it proudly. The Rankins got a chuckle out of it, but Mrs. Rankin assured him if yellow was what he wanted to wear, then they had no problems with it. He had smiled a toothy grin at Mrs. Rankin and taken a big bite out of the slice of honey and butter covered homemade bread she had brought him.

Once he hit high school, his big yellow hat was iconic, though not useful on the friend or girl front, but by then, he no longer cared. He had grades to make so he could get into the right school, get the right internship, and get the right job. He was going to travel the world on someone else's dime, searching out the forgotten corners of the globe for new plant and animal species. He was going to document his adventures, write reports, do research, and eventually make his mark on the world as a great exploring scientist. His big yellow hat would grace the cover of "Journal of Animal Science," and his discoveries would be mentioned in biology textbooks the world over for the rest of time. As far as Ted was concerned, his high school and college peers could shove it.

Ted kept in contact with Mark and Emily. Mark had gone to Connecticut for college where he was studying engineering. He had always been the one to tinker with and fix the farm equipment, so it was a natural avenue for him. His mother was a tinkerer, too, after all, and she was quite proud of him for pursuing such a promising field. Emily, however, had chosen to stay close to home and attend the community college where she got an associate's business degree. She took a job in a local lawyer's office right after graduation where she met a young lawyer fresh from law school. The two hit it off immediately and were married in less than eighteen months. They both continued working at the law firm for two more years, and then they had a baby girl they named Ally. Emily decided to stay home with the baby and was instantly immersed in family life. Over the years, Ted's contact with his childhood friends waned. He stayed busy in the city with his schooling and internship. Mark was busy with his own in another state, and he, too, was in a serious relationship that looked well on its way to marriage. Emily had her small family to care for. Before he knew it, Ted was only seeing the Rankin kids during the holidays when they would all come back to Westchester County and celebrate together as they had in years past.

It was 2003 when Ted's world shattered the first time. Things had been great. He had graduated just three months before with his Master's Degree, intent on moving forward towards his Doctorate. He was fully employed by the Bloomsberry Museum. He was heading up research on inner-city reptile life, which was most certainly more interesting than it sounded, and he had met the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life while giving a tour of the museum to a middle school group. He hadn't learned her name yet, but she had the biggest, bluest eyes in the Five Burrows, he was certain. Not to mention a smile that could light up Manhattan, and the sweetest giggle he had heard since two-year old Ally had laughed while being tickled by her grandpa the previous Christmas. Honestly, the woman was perfect, and she had even promised to bring her classroom of eleven-year-olds back the next month. Twenty minutes after the group left, he had found himself in the exhibit on Christian influence in early New England, staring hard an early edition of the Eliot Bible, and practically praying that she would keep her word. No one had ever turned his head like that before, and he desperately wanted for her to turn it again.

Three weeks later, however, a state trooper showed up at the door of the Bloomsberry looking for him. He had been pulled away from typing his report on the reptile research, and in the space of a minute, his world had turned upside down.

The trooper held his hat neatly in his hands. He was tall, commanding, and the light from the window glinted off the man's bald, dark-skinned head. "Mr. Buide, are you the son of Arthur and Naomi Buide?" he asked calmly.

"Yes…" It had come out almost like a question, and Ted quirked his eyebrows and frowned.

"I'm sorry to have to inform you, sir, your parents were in a car accident this morning. It was early and dark, and the other driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. Your parents…They didn't make it."

And just like, the everything stopped. Ted felt his center of balance shift, and he tilted sideways, staggering into the doorframe. The trooper was faster than his sturdy girth looked capable, and he caught Ted and guided him into a chair beside the door. He sent his partner to bring in another staff member. All the while, Ted stared blankly into space, numb from the shock of the news.

The next days passed in a blur. Mr. Bloomsberry took Ted under his care and ordered his own attorney to assist Ted with any legal matters at Mr. Bloomsberry's expense. Members of the museum staff helped in any capacity they could. Alma Morgan, the little old woman who ran the cafeteria, set him up with food. The Rankins helped him with funeral arrangements. A new intern apartment sat for him for free while he spent the next two weeks at his childhood home taking care of everything, including burying his parents. He barely knew what was happening around him. It was a new sensation for him since he had spent his life meticulously observing the world around him, taking it all in, and analyzing it for new information. He was on autopilot, only truly surfacing when Mr. and Mrs. Rankin looked him square in the eye and gently demanded an answer from him, and they only did that as a last resort. He later marveled that without the Rankins, he would never have gotten through those first weeks after losing his parents.

By the time he was back to work, the pretty teacher had already brought her class to the museum. She had requested that he lead the tour, he was told, but had not inquired further when she was told that he was out on personal leave. He couldn't quite bring himself to feel disappointment simply because he was too exhausted from feeling everything else, so he decided to immerse himself in work. Feelings couldn't get to him if his mind was engaged and busy, so he set to it.

It was another two months before the teacher returned to the museum with her class, and when she did, she once again requested that Ted lead the tour. He was startled for a moment when the desk clerk came for him, but he went without complaint, brushing imaginary dust from his pants as he stood and straightening his tan argyle sweater vest. Yellow was just too cheery to wear these days.

Ted had mostly kept to himself for those two months, working on reports from his small office, but he had slowly been joining his co-workers in the cafeteria at lunch. He had even laughed at a joke the janitor had told him when they had crossed paths near the water fountains. It was short, but it felt good to laugh. He wasn't sure if he had since his parents' passing.

When he walked into the atrium of the museum, his breath hitched at the sight of the teacher bathed in sunlight streaming through the window. Her soft smile and kind eyes gently touched the cold space where his heart had been three months before, and for the first time in weeks, he felt a drop of warmth in his chest.

She walked up to him and extended her hand. "I'm Maggie Dunlop, and this is my fifth grade class. We were hoping to tour your new reptile exhibit today."

He tried to surreptitiously wipe his suddenly sweaty palm on his khaki pant leg, but her eyes twinkled. He suspected that she noticed, but he gripped her hand regardless and nodded his head. "Uh…yeah…yeah…The uh…The reptiles…" he stammered. Her hand was soft as satin, and though she was petite woman with delicate hands, she gave him a firm sure grip.

"Yes, the inner-city reptiles. It just opened a week ago, I believe," she clarified as she let go of his hand.

He nodded quickly trying to dispel the fog around his brain. "Yes. Yes, that one. I can do that. This…This way, kids," he called to the group as he waved them towards the East Wing of the museum.

It took the entire walk back to the exhibit, but he was finally able to shake off the jitters that Ms. Dunlop's presence had set loose in him. He stumbled a couple of times during the tour and presentation when she caught his eye and smiled that angelic smile, but by some miracle, they made it through the tour without any major mishaps. The kids actually seemed interested in the exhibit, but since it was mostly about lizards, that wasn't all that surprising. The class was then set free to roam the area, and Ms. Dunlop appeared at his elbow just moments before he escaped through the doorway.

"I wanted to ask, Mr. Buide, if everything is okay. I mean, I know it's not my business, but I was told you'd taken a personal leave of absence the last time I was here, and I was just…worried."

Ted gaped at the woman for a moment, and then he realized how much like a fish he must look and snapped his mouth closed, blinking in shock that she had worried about his absence.

Misinterpreting his silence, Ms. Dunlop continued, "I just hope you weren't or aren't sick. I know there's been a rather virulent flu going around, and I just would hate it if you had caught it. I shouldn't have said anything. Like I said, it's not my business. Forgive me, Mr. Buide."

She turned to walk away, and Ted fumbled to stop her, his hand landing awkwardly on her shoulder. She stopped, wide-eyed and wary. He jerked his away as if it had been burned. Though, the way his fingertips were feeling, maybe he was. "Sorry…I…No, there's nothing to forgive. I was just…surprised at your worry. I wasn't sick, if that helps. It was…" He faded off. Talking about it to someone who already knew was one thing, but he didn't know Ms. Dunlop at all, had only learned her name thirty minutes ago. (And, truthfully, he had forgotten her first name already.)

She looked intently at him, dipping her head for eyes to meet his. "It was…what?" she whispered, inviting him to open up to her. There were no demands being made, just an open invitation of friendship and trust.

He closed his eyes and sighed. She straightened. He opened his eyes but kept his gaze on the floor. "My parents," he softly spoke. "A car wreck…They…didn't make it."

Her soft hand landed on his forearm. "Oh, Mr. Buide…" She didn't offer any apologies or condolences. There was just a steady, gentle hand on his arm. Support. Kindness.

His chest warmed, again, and he raised his brown eyes to hers. "Thank you," he murmured as he offered her a small smile before pulling away and walking back to his office.

The second time Ted's world turned upside down was a year later. The museum needed money. Attendance and ticket sales were at an all-time low. The board of directors were talking of closing the little place. It seemed that the Museum of Natural History was finally going to succeed at closing the Bloomsberry doors for good. Mr. Bloomsberry was grief-stricken at the thought, but his son Junior was ecstatic, immediately pushing to turn the place into parking garage. _Just what New York City needs_ , Ted thought to himself at the meeting with the two Bloomsberry men, _another reason for people to collect more stuff rather than collect more knowledge._

It was then that his eyes lighted on an old poster of The Shrine of Zagawa, and a fully-formed plan fell into his brain from seemingly nowhere. "The Shrine of Zagawa!" he exclaimed.

Both Junior and Mr. Bloomsberry looked at him like he had lost his mind, and maybe he had. Something in his gut, though, told him that this plan would work.

"The Shrine, Mr. Bloomsberry. If we brought that statue back and made it into an exhibit, we could save the museum. I just know it," he insisted.

Mr. Bloomsberry looked up at the poster, a twinkle of adventure sparking in his eyes. Junior crossed his arms, slumped his shoulders, and frowned at Ted. The next few minutes were an adventure in and of themselves. Mr. Bloomsberry climbing onto and falling off of his desk. Junior ranting that the idea was ludicrous. Finally, it all ended with Ted making the impromptu decision to lead the expedition to search for and bring back the statue from the shrine.

When he was younger, he had always loved the idea of adventuring around the world, researching, making new discoveries, and bringing home artefacts from his work. He had always loved climbing over the hills of Westchester County, collecting and categorizing bugs and flora that he found. He had spent his days in undergrad and grad school scouring the city for urban wildlife. His best papers and projects had been from right there in the largest city in the country. National Geographic had always been his favorite publication. An explorer, yes, he had wanted that title more than anything.

Then, his parents were killed in a car wreck, and he had made a complete 180 shift in personality. He wanted little to do with adventure and exploration. He wanted a lab, a desk, and a computer. He wanted to study someone else's samples. He wanted to put their research together into articles that could be understood by the lay-people of the world. He wanted to be indoors. He walked to work to avoid cars, buses, and trains. He rarely visited the country house he now owned. He kept in touch with his country neighbors mostly through email and phone calls. He had even traded in his yellow wardrobe for one filled with muted khakis and tans. He was scared.

This, though. This trip to the jungles of Africa by cargo ship to search for the lost shrine of Zagawa, it was necessary to the survival of his beloved workplace. It was a last-ditch effort to bring people into the museum, away from the heart of Manhattan and its big tourist trap Museum of Natural History. It would put them back on the map in the field of archaeology. His job and the jobs of all his co-workers from Mr. Bloomsberry, founder and director, to Jose Martinez, janitor, depended on someone going out to search for this statue, and he was the only one with the knowledge to do it other than Mr. Bloomsberry himself, who just wasn't as young as he once was. He, Theodore Buide, had to do this.

A month later, he had his tickets, passport, shots, new bright yellow safari outfit, itinerary, and crew all in place, and with a heart about to thump straight out of his ribcage, he boarded the huge ocean-liner and headed to the other side of the world.

It was an unmitigated disaster. He was a fool. The search was a bust. The land guides and ocean crews thought he was a certifiable idiot. (He was certain that they wouldn't have believed him to have an IQ of 121, certifiably very high, even if he waved the document from the Weschler IQ Test in their faces.) If that wasn't enough, however, instead of bringing back a 40-foot statue, he brought back a keychain fob and an overly curious monkey, which Maggie's class had dubbed "George." Within 48 hours of returning home, he had found himself homeless, jobless, and in a constant state of panic, mostly thanks to George. Really, all that was left was for him to get arrested, and his life would be complete.

It was only because of a tough love lecture from Maggie and the world's craziest stroke of luck (brought about by George, of course) that he had finally discovered that the tiny statue replica he had brought back from Africa was actually a clue directing him to the last leg of the exploration for the real shrine statue.

After that, all had finally fallen into place. Ted's gut feeling about the statue proved true. The museum was saved and revamped. It became much more of a discovery museum, a tactile place for kids and families to come and learn hands-on about the world. Attendance soared. The Bloomsberry had found its new niche, and even Junior Bloomsberry eventually was able to buy an old condemned apartment building that he demolished to build his dream parking garage. Ted rediscovered his sense of adventure, finally asked Maggie on a date, and even got to keep George, which meant it was a really good thing he had his sense of adventure back.

Life went on, and a year later, Ted found himself on a cross-country adventure with a monkey and an elephant that ended with a whole host of new friends and a promotion: Bloomsberry Museum director.

That year had brought about plenty of changes in Ted's life, even before the breakneck train trip. One: Having a girlfriend was awesome. Maggie was exactly what Ted had never known he needed. He had always had intellectual pursuits with little interest in romance or love. He had assumed that if he were to try dating it would be long after he had established his career as a modern Indiana Jones. (He hoped his career would involve far fewer Nazis and guns, however.) He would make an indelible mark on the world, and then, he might consider women. His learning life always trumped his love life, and that was more than okay with Ted.

Then, Maggie had happened. Smart, patient, sweet, truth-telling, kind-hearted, supportive, beautiful Maggie. While George had entered his life with all the subtly of a hurricane, Maggie had entered as gracefully as a butterfly. When George had him at his wits end, there was Maggie coming along with a distraction for the young monkey. When he was off on a research tangent for work, barely noticing the shoes on his feet, let alone anything else, there was Maggie coming behind him to make sure he and George had their basic needs met and offering surprising insights into his work. When the anniversary of his parents' deaths came around, there was Maggie bringing him tea and scones and taking George for show-and-tell at her class for the day before returning to his apartment to get George settled for the night and then sitting quietly by Ted until one-thirty in the morning, listening while he talked about his childhood and cried over his loss. Maggie was there to pull him out of his head when he was stressed about his possible promotion. She was there during his first few weeks of his new job when he was meeting himself coming and going with his new duties. Maggie Dunlop came into his world with all the grace, poise, and gentleness of a monarch butterfly, yet she was able to steady him while his world changed around him at the pace of a fighter jet.

Yes, Ted was very happy having Maggie as his girlfriend.

Second, Ted soon discovered that George, as cute as he was, needed room to roam – often. Life in the big city for the little monkey was exciting, of course. Ted and George had plenty of friends in their neighborhood such as Drake the new doorman, his dog Hundley, Chef Pasghetti, Mrs. Pasghetti, their cat Gnocchi, Steve and Betsy, their hyperactive dog Charkey, and many others. There was also Central Park a few blocks down from their apartment building and the rooftop of their building, but still George managed to wreak havoc on a regular basis. Therefore, for the sake of the neighborhood, George's insatiable curiosity, and his own sanity, Ted started taking the two of them back to his childhood home every couple of weeks. George was able to run free in the country, discovering the wildlife there and meeting all of Ted's neighbors, many he had known his whole life.

Thanks to George, Ted's life became one big adventure. He quickly lost count how often he was yelling "GEORGE!" across a field, street, house, neighborhood, store, or wherever. George made messes and got into mischief faster than Ted could clean up behind him. The little primate was sharp as a tack and fast as lightning. In spite of all the chaos, though, Ted grew to love George as far more than a pet. George became his child. He set up a bedroom for the monkey in their New York City apartment and in their country home. George had toys, clothes, bath and bedtimes. He was taught table manners and basic rules. He even began some formal tutoring under Ted and Maggie.

This led to George becoming the biggest research project of Ted's life. It took very little time for Ted to realize that George was not only curious but also quite intelligent, and he decided to start testing and documenting his discoveries about George. It was that one thing that pushed the city official to allow Ted to keep George when he applied for the permit. According to the city of New York, George wasn't a pet; he was a lab animal. The very detailed parameters of the experiment allowed George to enter places of business, even restaurants and grocery stores. He was given the freedom to ride public transportation and roam the streets without a leash. He was also given leave to be included in any and all experiments that the Bloomsberry Museum conducted through their applied science and research department, which at the time existed in name only. It had been how Ted had originally been interned with the museum, but it was one of the first departments to have its funding cut when tickets sales began to plummet. George was going to be how Ted brought the research department back.

Ted wanted to be able to have on-staff scientists from a variety of disciplines that could work with local colleges and universities to make new discoveries and create their own museum exhibits. By the time his first year anniversary as museum director came around, careful planning and research had Ted reaching out to a Dr. Wiseman to head up the whole department. She was only a couple of years older than him and was a forerunner in the field of applied science, research, and exploration. She had three doctorates to her name, was widely published and respected, and her primary focus was natural sciences, followed closely by physical sciences. Ted knew that she would be perfect for their hands-on approach at the Bloomsberry.

Dr. Wiseman's enthusiasm during the interview told Ted all he needed to know, and the job was offered and accepted before she even left the meeting. In two weeks, she had her first day at the Bloomsberry, and the detailed process of restarting the department began. She and Ted worked closely together laying out the framework of the department, setting goals for research teams, prioritizing research projects, working out fund-raising opportunities for projects, contacting possible project sponsors, and on and on. The work was time-consuming, and Ted found himself in his office long after the museum had closed each night. Maggie was good enough to care for George for him.

Working with Dr. Wiseman was a breath of fresh air for Ted. Even Mr. Bloomsberry, for all of his interests, was not a scholar. He was well-traveled and experienced, and he had learned plenty of things over the years. Ted had always listened to the man with rapt attention and was quick to soak up whatever his former boss had to teach. However, after the research department was defunded, Ted was left with no other graduate students or degree-holders in the museum for company. He had headed up the day-to-day upkeep of the exhibits. He had taught the tour guides all they needed to know to conduct tours. He was the person young students came to when they sought out the museum for information for their school papers and assignments. He had become the foremost staff member as far as educational background was concerned, his hard-earned doctorate putting him above even Mr. Bloomsberry himself and every member of the board of directors.

Dr. Wiseman was the first person in a few years to be employed by the museum that held a degree at least as high as him. Her three doctorates to his one, in fact, put her above him, and her field research resume far exceeded his own. Speaking with her and working with her pushed him outside his intellectual rut, and he reveled in it. She had stories for her stories and research for her research, and he felt as if he were in the presence of a living, breathing science textbook. He had been loving being museum director, but having Dr. Wiseman on staff gave a whole new dimension to what he was doing with his job.

For all his observational skills, however, Ted had failed to notice that his long hours spent in the enjoyable company of Dr. Wiseman was building a wall between himself and his dear Maggie. It took three months before he finally ran headlong into that very wall.

Ted had come home to his apartment late, again. Maggie had come by after her work day to tutor George in colors and get him fed and in bed. She had said she wanted to talk to him, so she would wait there for him to get home. He had promised to be home by seven. He walked through the door at nine-thirty. It was the fifth time he had lost track of time and missed a date with Maggie.

She was still there when he rushed through the door, an apology already falling out of his mouth. He was stunned to silence, though, when he realized halfway through closing the door that the apartment was completely dark, except for the light above the sink. It cast a yellow glow over the kitchen, barely illuminating the couch on the far wall where Maggie sat watching him, her pink lips in a deep frown, her light brown eyebrows pursed, her blue eyes lacking their usual spark of happiness. Ted felt his gut wrench in premonition.

He silently finished closing the door, hung his jacket and hat on the rack, and nervously wiped his clean boots on the mat before making his way across the darkened room with all the confidence of an abashed school boy. He eased himself onto the couch beside Maggie but did not touch her. Silence reigned for a minute, and in that minute, Ted could see tear streaks that ran through Maggie's light make-up. He could see the puffiness around her red-rimmed eyes. She had a habit of biting the top layer of skin off her lips when she was anxious or worried, and he could see from how raw those lips were that she had been doing a lot of that recently. His stomach twisted again as his heart dropped at the realization that he had been the cause for everything he saw and was about to hear.

"Maggie-″

"No, Ted," she interrupted. "I need to say something." Her gentle voice shook and was raw from an evening of crying. She clasped her hands in her lap. "Do you know the thing I've always liked best about you?

Ted shook his head.

"The way you immerse yourself into something you love. I love seeing how animated you get when you begin a new project. I love how your eyes light up every time you speak about it. I love how you forget to button your shirt or tie your shoes in your eagerness to get back to the museum to work some more on whatever it is. Just like with George. You've made him such an integral part of your life, giving him a bedroom, tutoring him, civilizing him, everything. Every time he masters something new, you cheer and jump around, celebrating it, and you immediately move onto the next goal. You work tirelessly to accomplish your goals."

Maggie got quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts, but Ted thought he already knew where she was headed. It felt like his chest was being crushed, and he wished, for once, that he wasn't in possession of a certifiably very high intellect.

She sighed and released a hollow laugh. "The very thing that endeared me to you is the thing that's breaking my heart now." She looked up at him, her ocean blues swimming in tears. "I'm not what makes you light up like that, Ted. I'll never be that interesting to you. You like me, yes, but I don't hold your attention like that. And I certainly can't challenge or meet you at the same intellectual level that Dr. Wiseman can."

Ted set his hand on hers. "Maggie…I…I know I've been…distracted… but please don't…″

Maggie cupped his cheek in her hand, and he leaned into the touch. "It's for the best, Ted, and I think you know that."

Ted had no answer. He closed his eyes, swallowed past the lump in his throat, and a tear pushed out of his left eye, followed by the right. He remembered a story his mother would read him when he was young called "The Brave Little Tailor." The tailor managed to outwit a giant three times, earning himself a rich payoff as a reward for ridding the kingdom of the ogre. Ted had liked the story because while the tailor wasn't particularly strong, he was particularly smart, and it was the man's smarts, not his muscles, that had brought about the victory. He had always wanted to be like that tailor, adventuring in the world, taking on the biggest challenges, and winning with his wits. Anyway, one of the challenges the tailor had taken on with the giant was a bet that he could squeeze water out of a rock. The giant tried and failed, but the tailor had tricked the giant. He had a hunk of cheese he had been carrying with him, and he squeezed that until the whey dripped out from between his fingers. Unlike the tailor, though, Ted felt like he was being bested by the giant because he was squeezing Ted's heart dry of its blood, even as it sat in his chest.

Maggie wiped his tears with her thumb. "I've accepted a job, Ted," she whispered. "It's at a premier private school in Boston. It's a wonderful opportunity, and I'll be closer to my parents and sister. I move in three weeks."

Ted opened his eyes. He ran his fingertips down the side of her cheek. "This is it, isn't it?" he asked. His voice could barely be heard over the hum of the window unit.

She nodded. "Yes."

"I never meant to hurt you, Maggie. You're one of the most wonderful people I've ever known, and all this time with you has been…amazing." He meant every word.

She pulled back from his touch and smiled at him. "I know you never meant to hurt me. I'm not angry, only sad."

Ted took a deep breath through his nose. "I need you. I couldn't have managed all this time without you."

There was another hollow laugh. "I was only what you needed for a season, not what you need for life. I'm needed more by George, now, than by you. I've been your support as you've gotten your bearings, but now, you need a challenge to drive you forward. I'm not that, Ted, at least not for you. We both have moved to new places in our lives, and we neither of us are what the other needs anymore. I know this hurts. It hurts me - to the point of physical pain. But, Ted…I also know it's what's needed - for both of us."

"But what about George?" Ted asked urgently. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he was a scientist. Sometimes that's all a scientist had left.

"George will be fine." Maggie smiled and shook her head. "He's the smartest monkey around and has all of the neighborhood to keep an eye on him. Besides, he's ready to join you at the museum for more intensive training and testing. I helped you write the plan for him. I know what is next."

Ted looked at the woman beside him for several long moments. She was indeed beautiful. The intelligence and gentle, bold honesty that shone in her eyes was like a beacon. He wanted to keep her, but somewhere deep inside, he knew she was right. He had pulled away from her without even meaning to. His world was fast beginning to revolve around the museum and the research department, and Maggie, dear Maggie, was being relegated to the back burner, a place she had no business being. She deserved to be front and center in someone's life. She deserved to see their eyes light up at the mere sight of her, to see them come to life when she was near. She deserved to be more than she could be for him.

It hurt. Only his parents' deaths had hurt more. It hurt so bad that he had to fight the urge to look at his chest because it felt like someone had cleaved it two with an ax. He did love her – on some level – but not the right level. She was someone dear and trusted, but she was not who he needed anymore.

He had learned from her. He had learned how to open himself up to people in a way he had never even imagined doing. He had learned compassion and gentleness and humility from her. He had learned how apt he was to get lost in his own head and neglect others. He had learned to take time to breathe and have fun and live. He had learned how to be brave and adventuresome again.

He would always treasure her. He would always hold the memory of their time together near and dear, but he had to let her go. It was time. It was her time. She needed more than he could give her, and he couldn't keep her from that any longer.

"You'll always be special to me, Maggie, and you'll always know where to find me if you need anything, anything at all."

She nodded at him. He held her face in his palms one last time and kissed her forehead soft and slow. He heard her sigh as he did. Then, she was gone, and Ted's world flipped on its head, again.

Ted spent the next week behaving like a real, live Marcus Brody by wandering around not paying any attention and getting lost in his own museum. (He literally found himself in a back room of the north wing and spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out where he was and how he got there. He almost called for a security guard to help him. It was embarrassing. He promptly proceeded to lock himself in his office for the rest of the day to get past the shame.) It was even bad enough that the junior tour guide who only worked two afternoons a week quirked an eyebrow at him and asked if he was okay. It was then that he knew he had to get away or at least find a change of pace, so he worked out a plan to be able to work from home – either one. That afternoon, he and George were rolling down the road with the top down headed for the country house for two weeks.

Mr. Rankin, God bless the man, knew what had happened the moment he saw Ted. He had dropped his screwdriver back into his toolbox, gathered the box in one hand and Ted's arm in the other, and pulled Ted across the field. The two spent the afternoon at Wannasink Lake with Mr. Quint fishing off the dock. George was entertained with Bill and his rabbits, so the men didn't rush. They didn't talk much. Not much was needed to be said, and besides, talking scares off the fish. As they packed up their tackle boxes, poles, and catch, though, Mr. Quint broke the companionable silence. He was re-wrapping some fishing line onto a spool. "It's probably for the best, Ted. Don't misunderstand me, she's a fine woman in every sense, but I always thought the two of you were an odd match for the long run. You're in a good place, now, so there's no rush. Have some fun with that monkey of yours and with your job and let everything else sort itself out. Now, what do you boys say to an old-fashioned fish fry? We've caught a dozen worth eating, and they're best when they're fresh."

Ted and Mr. Rankin shared a smile, and Mr. Rankin clapped Mr. Quint on the shoulder. "Now that does sound like a plan, Clint. You get that wife of yours to make those hush puppies, and I'll see to the potatoes. Ted, would make some of your mother's ice cream?"

Ted smiled. "No problem. George and I will get right on that."

That night, Ted, George, the Rankins, and the Quints all gathered for a dinner fresh fish, all the fixings, and homemade ice cream. As Ted sat around the picnic table listening to the latest story about Ally and her antics, which included a mud bath with the pigs and a run through the corn field, he found himself grateful for his friends. No matter what went on in his life, they had always been there encouraging him, rooting for him, supporting him, and generally making his life easier and better. He vowed to himself to make more time for them, as they always did for him.

Thus began his new normal. He and George spent more time than ever before at the country house. While in the city, the man was able to work from the apartment if need be or from right in the museum. He was able to implement positions and protocols that allowed that freedom, but he was given constant updates on the happenings there. He spent a great deal of his time while at the museum with the research department and continued to work closely with Dr. Wiseman. The two of them even began to go on research trips to various places in the world. He soon met two of her most trusted colleagues Dr. Einstein and Dr. Pizza. With their help, George was able to go into the depths of the sea and into space, piloting both a space ship and a submarine on his own. In fact, thanks to all three of the scientists, George continue to learn and expand his understanding of the world, even being able to hold down jobs, play and create instruments, problem-solve (which, all things considered, was by far the most valuable asset in the monkey's education), engineer, and even predict the weather.

From his country friends, George learned to train other animals, recognize and protect ecosystems, how to camp in any weather, how to dance, and how to run a train station. Everyone accepted a curious monkey into their lives without question, and along the way, they helped Ted keep an eye on his furry charge.

It was about two years later when Ted found out that Maggie had met and married someone. He sent a gift and received a phone call. The two talked for nearly thirty minutes, and Maggie sounded happier than ever before, and Ted was pleased to discover that all he felt was happiness for her. He had hung up the phone, leaned back in his chair, and reveled in the lightness he felt in his chest. He had never realized how much he was worried about his former girlfriend and her happiness. Knowing she was settled and happy and had all she had ever deserved to get from a man, eased his conscience.

Ted, on the other hand, started playing his tuba again, performed in local plays, took art classes, cooked his famous veggie lasagna for friends, and spent his days reminding George to "be a good little monkey." He loved his job. He had wonderful friends. Mostly, he had George. The life of one quirky Theodore Buide was really quite great.

Now, if only he could work up the courage to ask Dr. Wiseman on a date…


End file.
